


Hate is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling

by thecouchsofa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecouchsofa/pseuds/thecouchsofa
Summary: Draco hadn’t been expecting that sucking Potter off a few times would be what completely derailed his life.





	Hate is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling

It’s not about love at first. When it begins, it’s about hate.

The first time Draco sinks to his knees in front of Potter he rips his stupid trousers open, tearing the buttons off and letting them fall to the floor with a series of _pings_. They’re in the broom cupboard next to the Transfiguration classroom because Potter decided to show up Draco’s transfigured goblet by making his ridiculously gaudy solely to piss Draco off. And it worked. Of course it did, and the little shit knew it would. He’d cocked an eyebrow at Draco and shrugged while everyone fawned over his project. It was a fucking _goblet_ , for Merlin’s sake. You’d think Potter had conjured a bloody living replica of Godric fucking Gryffindor himself the way everyone fawned over it.

Draco hated him. _God,_ he hated him.

After Transfiguration let out Potter had waved his friends off, slinking over to Draco’s desk and leaning against it, resting his elbows on the wood. Potter was a cocky little shit and Draco was bloody _finished_ with it.

The worst part was, when Draco was on his knees, Potter’s ripped trousers hanging open and his pants pushed down to mid-thigh, he’d _still_ been smirking down at Draco, like he’d known all along exactly what was going to happen, exactly where he and Draco would end up. And Draco fucking hated him for it.

He didn’t take care with Potter that day, letting his cock hit the back of his throat hard enough to hurt, spit dripping down his wrist. It was messy and careless and so good and Draco came in his trousers as Potter finished in his mouth, handing squeezing his erection hard enough to bruise. The part that infuriated him even more, was that Potter was _careful_ afterwards, like he hadn’t just been fucking his cock as far into Draco’s throat as he could go. He’d cast a cleaning spell at Draco’s trousers and had wiped Draco’s face with the sleeve of his own robes. He’d even tried to kiss Draco’s swollen lips afterwards, when his legs were steady enough to stand on again, and Draco _hated_ him for it. He’d pushed Potter back against the wall and hissed in his face, telling him not to forget who he was dealing with. Potter’s cocky smile and relaxed posture stopped Draco short, reminding Draco that _he_ really should have been muttering the statement to himself, not to Potter, the infuriating git.

The next time Draco did it was after the last Quidditch game of the year. Potter had caught the snitch right in front of Draco’s face, and Draco was bloody _livid_. If he’d leaned forward he could have kissed the stupid golden ball, but Potter had gotten there first. Potter always bloody got there first, and Draco hated him for that as well.

He waited outside of the Gryffindor showers, knowing Potter always took long ones after a big win. Draco found himself smirking at the mental image of Potter jerking off to the thought of winning, how he might finish to thoughts of Draco’s defeated face. Draco wasn’t sure why the thought turned him on so much, but he wasn’t particularly inclined to question it.

The showers were muggy and humid when he entered them, remnants of steam hanging in the air and making breathing laborious. There was only one shower still on, so Draco made a beeline for it. Potter was in there, of course. Draco didn’t bother to slip more than his outer layer of clothing off, pressing himself to Potter’s back and forcing his front against the tile. He’d expected Potter to cry out, to shout and demand to know who was there, but he knew. Of course he bloody knew.

“Malfoy,” Potter said, a smirk in his voice.

Draco bit down on his shoulder, holding the skin between his teeth until he was sure it would have left a splotch of colour on Potter’s otherwise blemish-free skin. He forced Potter to turn, falling to his knees as Potter responded to his grip. Potter’s intake of breath was sharp, which Draco hadn’t expected. It was the most surprised Potter had been since they’d started this little dance around each other, which was odd. Draco supposed that it was possible Potter had expected to be made to reciprocate, but Draco had no such intentions as of yet. Perhaps Potter had even suspected Draco would fuck him, and wasn’t _that_ interesting? The mental image was enough to make Draco pause and revaluate his plans, but Potter’s hand in his damp hair stopped him in his tracks. Did Potter _really_ think he was allowed to touch Draco like that? Somehow, a hand in his hair felt more intimate than a cock in his mouth, and Draco wasn’t about to let Potter get away with it.

Potter’s hard cock bumped against Draco’s cheek and Draco sucked him down to the root without giving him time to adjust. Potter groaned and his back arched, pressing his cock somehow further into Draco’s mouth. His hand tightened in Draco’s hair, so Draco sucked harder. Evidently his system of punishment wasn’t working, because Potter seemed to be enjoying himself even more. Draco glared up at him, wanting to burn a hole in his chest.

Potter was making these little _noises_ , breath hitching with every twitch of his hips towards Draco’s mouth. Draco pressed his tongue up against the underside of Potter’s cock as hard as he could, pushing the head of Potter’s cock against the fleshy part at the back of the roof of his mouth. It was nearly enough to make him gag, and Potter didn’t help by letting his knees buckle slightly, changing the angle of his cock between Draco’s lips.

Draco growled low in his throat and Potter gasped, his head tipped back, water running down his chest and over Draco’s chin. Draco dragged his teeth lightly down Potter’s cock as he pulled back, squeezing Potter’s balls hard in one hand. He wanted Potter to feel just how much he hated him. Evidently, Potter wasn’t getting the message.

“ _Fuck_ , Malfoy, I’m coming,” Potter gasped. His eyes were wide as he stared down at Draco, and Draco _hated_ him. He glared up at Potter, meeting his eyes. Potter came, spilling hot semen down Draco’s throat.

Draco kept sucking on Potter’s slowly softening cock as he pressed his hand against his Quidditch trousers. Potter started to whine, gently batting at Draco’s head enough for him to get the message that Potter was too sensitive for such attention, but Draco didn’t care. He came still sucking on Potter’s half-hard prick, his palm firmly gripping his cock through his trousers, Potter gasping and clenching at Draco’s hair as Draco shuddered through his release.

He tried to help Draco up that time, only stepping back when Draco forcefully slapped his hands away. Draco knew he must look a right sight, wet Quidditch uniform clinging to his body and hair stuck to his forehead by the shower stream, but he didn’t care because Potter kept trying to _touch_ him. He tried to smooth Draco’s hair down and pull him in towards him, tried to tug Draco’s Quidditch shirt off and pull him under the steam, and Draco _hated him_ for it.

“Malfoy, let me –“ Potter started to say, reaching for Draco again.

Draco slapped his hands away, gritting his teeth and drawing his shoulders up so that he stood those important few inches taller than Potter.

“Do not touch me,” he hissed, putting the full force of his hate behind his glare.

Potter didn’t rise to the bait, didn’t snip back at Draco or hit out at him; he just watched Draco with sadness in his eyes and a hand still extended, covering half the space between them. Draco sneered at it and stepped out of the shower, flicking his wet hair out of his eyes.

He didn’t look back at Potter as he walked away.

Potter tried to talk to him after that. _Actually_ talk, not fight and bait each other as they so often did. Draco hated it. He hated how Potter seemed to want to be bloody _friends_ with him now, just because Draco had sucked his stupid sodding cock twice. He hated how Potter’s friends smiled at him in the halls and tried to help him carry his books in the library when the stack was too large for his arms and he couldn’t reach his wand. He hated how his own traitorous friends smiled encouragingly at him whenever these things happened, how they _thanked_ him for bridging the gap between Slytherin and Gryffindor after so many hard months, for making things easier on them now that the war was done. Most of all, he hated _Potter_ , and everything that he was.

It wasn’t enough to attempt to project that hate through his glares across rooms or over desks. Potter needed to know the scope of how Draco felt about him, because he clearly still wasn’t getting the message.

“Go to the Astronomy tower at nine tonight,” Draco said, standing directly behind Potter as he searched one of the library shelves.

“Oh, Malfoy,” Potter said. “Hi. I didn’t –“

“Will you go there, or not?”

“Uh, sure,” Potter said, and he smiled at Draco, like he couldn’t feel the aggression coming off Draco in waves. “I’ll see you then.”

Draco tried to tell himself he didn’t care if Potter showed up, because he hated him. But somehow he _did_ care. If Potter didn’t show up than Draco couldn’t get what he wanted. No – what he _needed_. And what he needed was to show Potter how not everyone in the whole of this stupid bloody school was ready to lie on the floor and kiss Potter’s feet at the drop of a wand. Everyone was always so bloody _thankful_ to him, but not Draco. _Never_ Draco. Draco still hated Potter with every fucking inch of himself as he always had, and Potter needed to know that.

Draco could hear Potter climbing the stairs to the Astronomy tower that night. He was exactly on time, and Draco wouldn’t have put it past him to have been waiting at the entrance to the Tower, ensuring that he arrived not one minute late or early. Perhaps he knew it would annoy Draco if he was. He’d have been right, for once.

“Hi,” Potter said, coming out of the darkness. Draco hadn’t bothered to light the space, just leaving the moonlight to filter in where it could. He didn’t particularly need to see Potter, anyway. Knowing it was him was enough. Potter certainly knew it was Draco.

Draco didn’t waste time replying, taking Potter’s sleeve and yanking, directing him over to where the room opened up to the sky. He pushed Potter back, letting him lean against the rail with his lower body, his upper back pressing into empty air. As he sunk to his knees in front of Potter, he contemplated pushing him, tipping him back and letting him fall through the air until he came to rest on the ground so far below. He wanted to, _god_ he did. But he knew that wouldn’t be enough. Potter would be gone, would know it was Draco that had done it, and then what? There would be nothing after that, because Potter would be _gone_.

Draco didn’t realise that he’d paused as he thought about killing Potter, but Potter evidently had. He said Draco’s name in a soft voice, brushing his thumb over Draco’s cheek, and Draco had most definitely _had enough_. Who did Potter think he was, touching Draco like that, like they were _something_ to each other? As usual, he obviously felt he could do what he liked. Anyone else might have let him, but not Draco.

Draco took Potter’s hand and pressed it against Potter’s thigh, digging his nails in a little. Potter didn’t push him off, just let Draco do what he wanted. Draco ripped Potter’s trousers again that time, angered by Potter’s presumptuousness. Some of the buttons bounced off the ledge when they scattered, tumbling down towards the ground as Draco had imagined Potter doing just a handful of moments before. Potter paid them no mind, pushing his pants further down his thighs when Draco pulled out his cock.

Draco sucked him down straight away, hollowing his cheeks as much as he could. He felt a twinge of pain as he forced his cheeks to hollow, but he ignored it, wrapping his tongue around Potter’s cock and sliding it down. Potter groaned and grabbed the back of Draco’s neck. If he’d pulled Draco further onto his cock then Draco might have been able to excuse it, but Potter just let it rest there, like he was trying to make an added physical connection to Draco. Draco hated it. He sucked even harder, forcing his mouth to contort around Potter’s cock.

“Fuck, Malf – _oh_ Merlin,” Potter was saying, scrambling with his free hand against the rail he was leaning against. Draco forced his mouth further down, pressing Potter’s cock into his throat. It was uncomfortable, but it should be. Draco wanted nothing between them to be anything else other than painful. He didn’t know where he stood with anything else.

When Potter’s cock started to twitch, Draco knew he was close. He reached into Potter’s pants and squeezed his balls, tugging slightly. Potter moaned, his hands squeezing the back of Draco’s neck hard. It should have hurt, but Potter kept his nails away from Draco’s skin. Draco didn’t understand; if it was him he would have been clawing at Potter, making him really _feel_ it. Perhaps Potter thought he was better than that. Better than Draco.

“Merlin, _Draco_ ,” Potter cried, his cock spurting his orgasm into Draco’s mouth. And Draco had never hated him more than right then, his first name leaving Potter’s mouth along with the sounds of pleasure, the letters spoken like a benediction.

Draco sat back, wiping his mouth of the back of his palm, hitting away Potter’s hand that reached for him like it always did. Like Potter couldn’t bloody help himself from trying to _take_.

“Draco,” Potter whispered, falling to his knees beside Draco, one hand still reaching out.

Draco glared at him, standing abruptly. He hated his name coming out of Potter’s mouth, hated how the letters sounded in Potter’s voice. Potter couldn’t say his name like that, like it was something _special_. Draco wasn’t that for Potter, and Potter shouldn’t assume he was, shouldn’t assume that Draco would _let_ himself be. That wasn’t _them_. Draco wasn’t a benediction, he was the fire that would consume Potter if given half the chance.

“Draco, wait,” Potter said, closing his ripped trousers as much as he could. “Please, just –“

“ _Don’t_ ,” Draco hissed. He tried to ignore the way his hard cock twitched in his pants at the sight of Potter’s flushed face, limbs still loose from orgasm. “Don’t you dare.”

He left Potter there, walked away from him as fast as was dignified. He didn’t care that he hadn’t come yet, only wanting to get away from Potter before he said his name again. The sounds of it were too soft coming out of Potter’s mouth; they should be hard and spoken with force, like Draco’s was when he spat out the first letter of Potter’s name.

“Fuck,” Draco heard Potter yell from the Tower. Draco could hear him swearing to himself as he walked out, leaving Potter where he’d called him to. That was how it should be.

Potter tried even harder to talk to Draco after that, rushing up to him in the halls and breaking conversations with his friends to call out to Draco in greeting. And he wasn’t calling out insults across the courtyard, oh no – he was saying things that were infinitely worse. He asked how Draco’s day was, and whether he’d enjoyed what had been served for lunch. He asked Draco how he was progressing with the Charms essay, or if he needed a hand with Defence homework. Draco had sneered at that one, at Potter’s implication that he was qualified to tutor Draco just because he’d beat the Dark Lord with a spell taught to fucking _second_ _years_. Sneering was familiar territory, but Potter would follow up Draco’s reaction by asking Draco if he wanted to go for a walk with him, or accompany him and his friends to Hogsmeade the next weekend, or sit with them in the bloody Great Hall, like _that_ was something that had ever been remotely in the realm of possibility.

Draco had no idea how to react to Potter telling him his robes fit well that day, or that his hair was looking especially nice. He didn’t know how to deal with Granger complimenting Pansy on the heels she’d somehow managed to get away with wearing during class hours, or how to react to Weasley inviting Blaise to play wizards chess in the Great Hall on the weekend when they’d all finished their essays. The part he didn’t know how to deal with the most was how Potter would _look_ at him during these interactions, a slight smile playing on his stupid lips, a hand either gesturing in the space between them, or rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks colouring red.

Draco didn’t know how to deal with it, so he just _didn’t_.

He thought that maybe if he stopped sucking Potter’s cock then it would stop, but it didn’t. Evidently, Potter’s want to turn Draco’s entire bloody world upside down seemed to have no bearing on whether or not Draco was going to suck out Potter’s brain through his prick. It was utter madness.

“Draco,” Potter called, darting in front of Draco so that he either had to stop, or run directly into Potter. Draco almost hexed him when he said his name despite the many other students littering the hall. Potter wasn’t allowed to do that, yet he still hadn’t seemed to have caught on to that fact, despite Draco’s very obvious distaste whenever he did it.

“You seem to be in my way, Potter,” Draco said, spitting out Potter’s last name with extra force.

“Come study with me later, out by the lake.” Potter’s face looked ridiculous, like he actually hoped Draco would say yes. Like Draco would _ever_ say yes to something like that. Potter was going mental.

“Not bloody likely,” Draco laughed. When he tried to walk around Potter, Potter blocked him with his arms stretched out to the sides, looking like a right tosser.

“Come on, please? If you don’t need help with anything then maybe you could help me. You know I’m rubbish at Potions.” And Potter had that _look_ on his face again. The look that made Draco want to bite and hex and yell until he couldn’t see it anymore.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco said, knocking a shoulder into him to send him off balance.

“Draco,” Potter called, and Draco stopped and turned, intending to sock Potter in the mouth just so he’d stop talking. “If you don’t want to do that then you could, uh, do what you usually do?”

“What I usually do?” Draco laughed. “I’m about five seconds away from hexing you. What do you mean ‘what I usually do’?”

“You know,” Potter said, his cheeks colouring.

Draco laughed, the sound loud and cutting. “Do you _need_ it, Potter?” he sneered. “What am I saying; of bloody course you do.”

The blush had extended up to Potter’s ears now, leaving them bright red. And _fuck_ Potter for putting the image into Draco’s head after he’d just managed to get it out long enough to bloody _think_. He wanted it, and he hated Potter for making him want it, making him _need_ it still, need Potter’s cock in his mouth. It was ridiculous and fucked up and Draco wasn’t even sure who he hated more now that he thought about it, Potter or himself.

“Fine,” Draco said, clenching his jaw. “Fuck you, Potter. If you’re not there at seven then I’m leaving.”

“Yes, ok,” Potter said, and he looked far less happy than when he’d been asking Draco if he wanted to come down to the lake to braid each other’s fucking hair, or whatever he had in mind. “I’ll see you down there.”

Draco didn’t want to think about it, but apparently everybody else did.

“Why are you being mean to Potter?” Pansy asked, and Draco felt like he’d been pushed into some kind of fucking fever dream.

“Since when do you care?” Draco asked, glaring at Pansy. Fuck her for asking about Potter. It certainly wasn’t any of her business, though she seemed to think it was.

“Since all the bloody Gryffindor’s have actually been _nice_ to us all,” Pansy said. “You might enjoy yourself if you gave them a chance, Draco.”

And that was what Draco was afraid of. He didn’t want to give Potter a chance, didn’t want to _enjoy_ Potter. He wanted to scream at Potter and stomp him into the dirt and hex him when his back was turned because that was what they _did_. It was what they’d _always_ done, only everyone else seemed to be trying to change it now.

“Fuck you,” Draco said, and turned away from Pansy, ignoring Greg’s questioning looks.

Fuck them all.

Fuck Potter especially, Draco thought, as he walked down to the lake. Potter had been early that time, beating Draco there. It royally pissed Draco off, because Potter had seen that Draco had come fifteen minutes early himself, and Draco didn’t want Potter to infer anything from it. He just hadn’t had anything better to do. It didn’t mean anything, it was only because he’d been avoiding the absolute trolls that were his friends.

He gritted his teeth when Potter stood up, a smile spreading across his face, because why should Potter be smiling? There was fuck all to smile about.

“Draco,” Potter said, stepping forward.

Draco pushed him back against the tree, standing tall to tower over him.

“Don’t _call_ me that,” Draco said, reaching to pull open the front of Potter’s trousers. “Don’t.”

“Why?” Potter gasped when Draco’s hand wrapped around his prick, Draco sinking to his knees on the rough ground, not giving a thought to the state of his trousers.

“Because it’s not fucking yours to say,” Draco hissed, tightening his hold on Potter’s cock.

“Why not?” Potter asked, one hand coming to grip the back of Draco’s neck again, and Draco was going to have to hex Potter’s hands the next time they did this. Because there would _be_ a next time, and Draco hated himself for acknowledging it.

Draco didn’t answer him, sucking Potter’s cock down instead. He made it messy, all wet lips and loud sucking sounds and a mouth that moved up and down Potter’s cock in a fast rhythm designed to push Potter over the edge. The feel of Potter’s cock moving in and out of Draco’s mouth was fucking erotic, and Draco reached down to press his hand against his erection, slipping it inside after a moment of fumbling. He moaned around Potter’s cock when he got a hand around his own prick, the vibration of the sound making Potter gasp and clutch at him harder.

“Why not?” Potter asked again, the sounds of his breath and the smacking of Draco’s lips loud in the still air.

Draco glared up at him, his eyes fluttering closed when his hand twisted over the head of his prick.

“Why not, Draco?” And Potter would not fucking _shut up_.

Draco swallowed heavily and pulled back, wanking Potter’s wet cock with his hand in the same rhythm as his own.

“Because I’m not fucking _yours_ ,” Draco hissed, before sucking Potter back down, the head of his cock nudging into Draco’s throat.

“You could be,” Potter said, his hand moving in a caress on the back of Draco’s neck, and Draco wanted to die because he _came_. He came when Potter said that, his hand stroking Draco’s neck instead of gripping and ripping and digging like it should be.

Potter followed close behind, spilling into Draco’s mouth as he hunched over Draco’s kneeled form. Draco’s mouth opened when Potter came, fist working his cock over and over, some of Potter’s come dripping from between Draco’s lips and slipping down his chin.

Potter hauled him to his feet before he could make himself stand, kissing Draco hard before Draco could react. Draco didn’t know how to at first, his brain going offline as soon as Potter’s lips pressed against his. Potter’s tongue swept across his lips, pushing into his mouth. Potter kissed him hard, not waiting for Draco to catch up. Draco let his mouth move against Potter’s for no more than a few seconds before pushing Potter back against the tree, separating their bodies enough that Draco could think again.

Potter stood there, mouth red and swollen and wet as he breathed hard, gaze dark as he watched Draco. Draco wanted to hit him so much his hand was shaking with it, but he _couldn’t_. He wanted to punch Potter so hard it hurt, but his body wouldn’t do it.

“Fuck,” Draco yelled, kicking the ground. Hot, angry tears welled up in his eyes, and his clenched fists started to shake. “ _Fuck_ you, Potter.”

“Draco,” Potter said, fucking reaching for him again. “Draco, it’s _ok_ –“

“I _hate_ you, don’t you _get_ that?” Draco cried. Embarrassment swirled in his gut, sour and unpleasant, as the tears welled too thick for him to see through.

“Yes,” Potter said, his voice slow like he was talking to a wild animal. “Ok, you hate me. Alright. But I don’t hate you.”

“ _Why_?” Draco cried. “It’s what we _do_.”

“We don’t have to,” Potter said. His brows were furrowed and one of his fists was clenched, the knuckles pressed against his thigh. “Merlin, Draco, I don’t _want_ to anymore. It’s exhausting and I’m _tired_ of it.”

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco hissed, and he turned and walked off, angrily wiping at the stray tears that were running down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Potter said the next day. His eyes looked a little red and it made a spike of hatred shoot through Draco’s belly, because what could _Potter_ possibly have to cry about? It’s not like _Draco_ was the one attempting to fuck everything up.

“Ok,” Draco said, turning away. He didn’t want to do this. Why couldn’t Potter just stay quiet and deal with this shit himself like Draco had been?

“It’s _not_ ok,” Potter said, grabbing Draco’s arm. “What are we doing, Draco?”

Draco stared at him, eyes flitting over Potter’s face. Potter’s gaze stayed steady, fixed on Draco’s.

Potter opened his mouth, likely to say something else fucking idiotic, so Draco cut him off before he could.

“Let me suck you off.”

“What?” Potter hissed, eyebrows furrowing. “I thought you didn’t –“

“I want to,” Draco said. “Come on, the Transfiguration classroom should be empty around now.”

“No,” Potter said, stepping back.

“Why?” Draco asked, genuinely surprised. “You like it, don’t you? You want it?”

“Of course I fucking _like it_ , Draco,” Potter cried. His jaw was clenched and he looked like he wanted to hit something. Good; that was something Draco knew how to deal with.

“Then let’s go,” Draco said, moving closer to Potter. “We both want the same thing.”

Potter let out a bark of laughter, startling Draco. “No, we don’t. We really don’t.”

“Fine, maybe we don’t. But we both want your cock in my mouth.”

“Transfiguration classroom?” Potter said after a lengthy pause. Draco nodded. “Come on, then.” His fist had unclenched, and Draco swallowed heavily.

Potter didn’t waste any time once they locked the door to the classroom, pushing Draco up against one of the desks.

“Trousers down,” Draco said, leaning back so that Potter couldn’t kiss him. Potter obeyed, shucking his pants and trousers quickly. Draco dropped to his knees, licking around the head of Potter’s cock so it was wet enough for the tip to slide down his throat.

“Fuck,” Potter muttered. His head didn’t tip back that time, his eyes staying locked on Draco’s face. “Touch yourself, Draco. You’re hard, aren’t you?”

Draco moaned around Potter’s cock, the words rushing through his stomach like fire. There wouldn’t be a harm in doing what Potter asked, so Draco opened his trousers and pulled out his cock. It was already leaking, Draco getting pulled closer to the edge with each tiny thrust of Potter’s hips.

“Fuck yes,” Potter groaned. Potter didn’t last long, coming before Draco could. Draco swallowed easily, barely noticing the taste of Potter’s come anymore. What he didn’t expect was for Potter to shove Draco’s hand off his cock, dropping to his knees and replacing it with his mouth. Draco’s toes curled and he let out a strangled moan, leaning back further to give Potter more room.

He shouldn’t be letting Potter touch him, shouldn’t be letting his mouth anywhere _near_ Draco’s cock. It wasn’t right, and Draco was going to fucking pay for it later, he knew he would.

Potter couldn’t take him as far down as Draco could, but his tongue more than made up for it. Draco came when Potter wrapped his tongue around the head of his cock, rubbing and twisting slightly. When Draco was coherent again, he opened his eyes to see Potter’s face only a few inches away from his.

“Let me kiss you,” Potter said. It was tempting. Potter’s swollen red lips made quite the picture.

“I can’t,” Draco said, tucking his cock back inside his pants.

“You can,” Potter said, still half on top of Draco.

“We don’t do that. That’s not how we work,” Draco said. He didn’t make a move to push Potter off, not able to make his hands move to do it.

“I want it to be,” Potter said. “I want _you_.”

“This is ridiculous,” Draco muttered. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Why did we start this?” Potter asked. He still hadn’t moved back, his ridiculously green eyes boring into Draco’s.

“Because I hate you,” Draco shrugged, but it came out with far less malice than he’d intended for it to.

“So you decided to show that by sucking my cock?” Potter asked, raising his eyebrows. “That makes no sense.”

“I don’t care,” Draco replied.

“Did you want control over me, or something? Did you want me to fall for you so you could push me away, is that it?”

“I’m leaving,” Draco sighed, shuffling back so he’d have room to stand. “I’m not doing this.”

“We’re not the same people we used to be. We don’t have to hate each other.” Potter was still kneeling on the ground, Draco standing above him. “I don’t want us to hate each other.”

“Leave me alone, Potter,” Draco hissed, stumbling out of the room.

And Potter did, more than he’d done since the year had started. He stopped calling out to Draco and asking him to study with him, or pop off down to Hogsmeade together. He stopped complimenting Draco and he didn’t smile at him in the halls, a light blush dusting his cheeks as had become customary during these interactions. Instead he avoided Draco’s eyes, looking away as soon as Draco glanced in his direction. He looked so bloody _sad_ all the time, and Draco wanted to hate him for it. He _wanted_ to, but he couldn’t. And he didn’t know why. He couldn’t muster up the want to walk up to Potter and punch him in the jaw, nor did he want to hex him in the halls in front of everyone. He’d expected to feel empty once the fiery ball of hatred he’d felt for Potter for years had trickled away, but instead of a gaping chasm he felt a cluster of emotions, all loose strings that never seemed to connect to each other.

He’d known what to do with hatred. This, he had no idea how to handle. He wasn’t even entirely sure what _this_ was. He knew what it felt like. As much as he didn’t want to, he could label the empty feeling that permeated his gut whenever Potter refused to meet his eyes as a mix of sadness and maybe even some regret. It felt like he _missed_ Potter, which was ridiculous because what had they even had anyway? It certainly wasn’t a mutually beneficial exchange of emotion, or anything of the sort. Potter hadn’t made Draco feel all warm and fluffy inside; he’d been Draco’s coping mechanism, and maybe a way to punish himself. So why did he feel like he missed Potter? Not the feeling of release when he sucked Potter’s cock, or the revelation of control that ran through him when he brought Potter to orgasm, but Potter himself. He didn’t know Potter, not really. Not like everybody else seemed to. His gut always coiled with something sour and unpleasant when he thought of that, because Potter had been _trying_ to know him in his awkward fumbling way, and Draco had brushed him off like he was nothing. Draco had always treated him like he was nothing, yet now the thought of doing just that made Draco want to throw up.

As glanced at Potter across the Great Hall, Potter not smiling and laughing with his friends like he usually did, Draco wanted to change it. He wanted to stop feeling so fucking _guilty_ whenever he looked at Potter’s stupid sad face, and he still wasn’t sure _why_ he wanted to. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He could make an educated guess as to why, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it to himself just yet because of how fucking mental it was.

 _That_ wasn’t where they ended up after all their years of antagonism. But maybe it could be, if Draco wanted it to, if he let it.

He found Potter alone in the library, nothing but a single book in front of him. Draco didn’t bother to glance at what it was because he shouldn’t care.

He’d kept telling himself to stay the fuck away from Potter, that there was no reason for him to seek him out. He’d told himself over and over, reciting it like a mantra when he was in his bed at night, but he’d failed. Potter had made him fucking weak, but Draco still couldn’t hate him for it.

“Don’t say anything,” Draco said once he’d reached Potter’s table. Potter’s glasses slid on his nose when he looked up at Draco, green eyes wide. “Please.”

“Ok,” Potter nodded, closing his book.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Draco said, shaking his head. “God, I have no idea because I hate you, I hate you so much.”

Potter didn’t say anything, just watched Draco.

“Meet me. Tonight.”

Potter nodded once. His hand twitched, like he was going to reach for Draco.

“Ok,” Draco said, turning to leave.

“Where?” Potter called. He was half out of his chair, like he was planning to chase Draco through the fucking library, or something equally ridiculous.

“Potions classroom,” Draco said, eyes downcast. “After dinner.”

“Ok,” Potter said, and he sat back down.

When Draco glanced over his shoulder as he walked out, he saw that Potter was smiling.

It was always cool down in the Potions classrooms, like the warming charms couldn’t quite reach there, no matter how often they were cast. Draco had skipped dinner, spending the time in the room where Potter would be meeting him, stomach in too much of a knot to be able to eat. He didn’t know what he was doing. He wanted to hate Potter again, because at least that wasn’t confusing as all hell.

He didn’t have to cast a Tempus charm to know that Potter was early. It hadn’t been nearly enough time between the start of dinner and the time Potter slipped through the door to the classroom, locking it behind him.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Potter said, striding across the classroom.

“Wasn’t hungry.”

Potter stopped in front of him and pulled off his shirt.

“You can’t possibly be warm down here,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously, you’ll get –“ He cut himself off when Potter raised an eyebrow. Right, he wasn’t supposed to care if Potter got sick. Hell, he was supposed to _want_ all manner of horrid things to happen to Potter. He was supposed to want to _cause_ said horrid things. Now, all he could think of was stopping them.

Potter had kicked off his shoes and socks, shucking his trousers and pants until he was standing fully naked in front of Draco. Draco swallowed heavily, his eyes raking over Potter’s body.

“Fuck me,” Potter said, staring directly into Draco’s eyes.

“What?” Draco gasped, eyes going wide. “Why would you want me to –“

“Because I trust you,” Potter said, stepping closer. “Because we’re not those same kids who hated each other, and you know it. I _like_ you, Draco, and I trust you. I want you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Draco said, voice climbing an octave. “Are you forgetting all the awful things I’ve said to you? The awful things I’ve _done_?”

“But you’re not still doing them,” Potter said. “You might’ve been an absolute shit, but you’re not anymore. Not like you _were_. And that _means_ something.”

“You want me to fuck you in the Potions classroom?” Draco asked. “That’s really what you want?”

“I’d prefer a bed, but I didn’t think I’d be able to get you in one,” Potter said, the ghost of a smile creeping back onto his face.

Draco swallowed heavily, warring with himself. “We’re close to the Slytherin dorms.”

“Yeah?” Potter asked, disbelief on his face. There was also something else, something that looked like _hope_.

“Yeah.”

Potter nodded, picking up his pants. Draco moved closer to help, picking up items of Potter’s clothing and handing them to him as he dressed. They walked to the entrance to the Slytherin dorms in silence, Potter’s hand brushing Draco’s every few steps. The faint touch of skin sent fire through Draco’s veins every time he felt it. He didn’t bother trying to hide the Slytherin password from Potter. It wasn’t worth it anymore. Leading Potter into Slytherin territory like this was something he would have dreamed of for just about all of his time at Hogwarts. Once, he would have taken severe advantage of the situation by humiliating Potter in some way or throwing curses at him, knowing that nobody else in the vicinity would come to Potter’s aid. He didn’t care about those things anymore, not when Potter was walking so close behind him, following Draco into what was once enemy territory, solely because he trusted him. Because he apparently _wanted_ him. Draco still didn’t entirely know what to do with that, but it didn’t make him angry anymore. He didn’t hate himself for wanting Potter. There was no merit in that. After all, pushing it down hadn’t made it go away, as much as he’d tried.

“It’s very green,” Potter said, once they were in Draco’s dorm with the door locked behind them.

“And I’m sure the Gryffindor dorms are very red,” Draco replied, walking over to his bed.

“They are,” Potter chuckled, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes were serious when they met Draco’s. “We don’t have to do this, you know, not if you don’t want to.”

Draco did want to, but he didn’t want to outright say that to Potter. It still seemed like it would make him too vulnerable, opening himself up like that.

“Draco,” Potter said.

Instead of speaking, Draco unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, throwing it on top of his trunk.

“Draco,” Potter said again, moving closer.

“I can’t hate you,” Draco muttered. “Merlin, I _tried_ to, but I can’t anymore.”

“I don’t hate you either,” Potter said. He still hadn’t made the move to undress, standing in front of Draco.

“I don’t know how to do anything else,” Draco said, meeting Potter’s eyes. “But I think I could want to.”

“I’ll help you,” Potter said. His hands came out to grip Draco’s, their fingers sliding together.

“Why do you like me?” Draco asked, tearing his eyes away from their joined hands. “You do, don’t you? I could see it.”

“I do,” Potter agreed, his cheeks colouring slightly. “I guess when I stopped hating you, that’s what was left.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Draco said, smiling slightly.

“Maybe not,” Potter shrugged. “But it’s the truth. Do you, uh, think you could like me?”

“I think I already do,” Draco said. “I guess that’s what was left for me as well.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you now, if you’ve stopped telling yourself you hate me?” Potter’s face was so open, his emotions printed across it as clearly as if he’d taken a quill and written them there himself. It didn’t make Draco angry anymore, it made him hitch his breath. It made him say yes to Potter’s question.

Potter didn’t pause after Draco’s reply, pressing himself against Draco and connecting their lips with little finesse. It wasn’t dirty or messy like their other kisses, it was soft and questioning, like Potter didn’t know how far he could push Draco. Draco closed the remaining space between them, tentatively curling his arms around Potter’s waist, and letting Potter do the same to him. They kissed for a while, mouths growing more confident when neither pulled away. Draco’s breath was starting to become short, Potter’s shirt rubbing on his bare skin and making it sensitive.

Potter looked a little worried when Draco pulled back, like he expected Draco to ask him to leave. Draco didn’t want him to expect that, didn’t want him to have to second guess everything anymore. Not if he was letting himself do this. He knew it was his fault that Potter felt that way, but he wanted to fix it. He could, now that they both knew that he wanted to try. That was all Potter had ever really been asking him for, after all.

Draco ran his hands down Potter’s front, skimming the buttons of his shirt. He started to undo them slowly, giving Potter time to change his mind. Potter didn’t, instead helping Draco with the buttons, starting from the top as Draco undid them from the bottom. Draco kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks once Potter had tossed his shirt onto the floor, and turned to sit on the edge of the bed. He heard Potter’s intake of breath when he lifted his hips to slip his trousers off, leaving him in just his pants. Potter undressed quickly after that, leaving his clothes in a pile at the end of Draco’s bed. Draco tugged him in with a hand on his wrist, pulling him to stand in front of Draco.

“You don’t have to,” Potter said once Draco had a hand on Potter’s cock.

“I like it,” Draco said. “And it’s not like it was before.”

Potter nodded and stepped closer to Draco. Draco hadn’t been lying; it wasn’t like it had been. He wasn’t going to do it because he hated Potter, or wanted him to pay, or wanted some kind of hold over him. He wasn’t lying to himself anymore, and could admit that he wanted to because he _liked_ it, liked it because it was _Potter_ , not because of some bullshit reason he made up to try and convince himself.

Potter’s cock tasted the same as it usually did, and it felt the same in his mouth. What didn’t feel the same was Potter’s hands on him. The palm on the back of his neck didn’t feel threatening or controlling or irritating; it just felt like Potter. And Draco was ok with that.

Draco didn’t suck him for long, going slowly so Potter wouldn’t be rushed to orgasm. He didn’t want Potter to come yet, not if they were still going to have sex. When he pulled back Potter pressed his thumb to Draco’s bottom lip, letting it rest next to his cock, a string of precome connecting the tip of Potter’s cock to Draco’s mouth. Draco sucked Potter’s thumb into his mouth, laving at it with his tongue until Potter moaned and pulled it back.

“Can we…” he trailed off, nodding towards the bed. Instead of replying, Draco tugged at his wrist, pulling Potter onto the bed as he shuffled back. Draco settled back against the pillows, Potter atop him. Potter tapped the side of Draco’s hip, pulling off Draco’s pants when he lifted them. Potter just looked for a moment, eyes taking in all of Draco’s body. With a jolt, Draco realised Potter had hardly seen his body, only seeing part of his cock a few times, even when he’d blown Draco in the classroom. He wondered if what he looked like matched up to whatever Potter might have pictured in his head.

“You can touch, if you like,” Draco said, watching Potter’s face. Potter’s fingers trailed over his hips lightly, before gripping his cock and pumping it.

“ _Accio_ oil,” Potter said. One hand reached out as a small bottle came flying out of Potter’s pile of clothes, landing in his outstretched palm.

“Came prepared?” Draco asked, shifting when Potter let go of his cock.

“I came hopeful,” Potter said, glancing at Draco as he opened the bottle and poured some onto his fingers.

Draco’s breath hitched when Potter rose up onto his knees and reached behind himself, wrist curling. Potter’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as he pushed a finger into himself, his hips rocking slightly back onto his hand.

“Could I?” Draco asked, nodding towards the oil.

“Merlin, yes,” Potter said, gasping when he pushed his fingers in.

Draco grabbed the bottle, pouring probably more than was necessary onto his fingers, but he didn’t want to hurt Potter. No, he didn’t want to hurt _Harry_ , because he wasn’t Potter anymore. He couldn’t be. Potter and Malfoy were who they used to be, when Draco still hated him, was still telling himself he couldn’t do anything _but_ hate him, that anything else was impossible. It wasn’t who they were to each other now.

Draco reached between Harry’s legs and rubbed his fingers over where two of Harry’s own were pushing into his body. Harry moaned when Draco pressed one in beside Harry’s, curling it where Harry did. Harry pulled his fingers out of himself, letting Draco replace them with his own. He braced himself on Draco’s headboard, rocking his hips to press back onto Draco’s fingers. A flush was slowly working his way from his neck down his chest, and Draco itched to reach up and lick it.

“Now,” Harry gasped, biting his lip and tugging at Draco’s wrist. Draco gave his fingers once final twist, before pulling them out. Draco felt the breath rush out of his lungs when Harry rose up on his knees above him, hand slicking up Draco’s cock. He started to sink down, bottom lip between his teeth. Draco’s eyes went wide as he watched his cock disappear into Harry’s body, the hot pull of Harry’s inner muscles opening around him.

“Merlin,” Harry muttered, rocking his hips. Draco could only watch, gazing up at Harry as he started to move his hips. “You ok?” he asked with a smile.

Draco didn’t reply, instead he pushed himself up and dragged Harry in by the back of his neck, licking into his mouth. Harry gasped against his lips at the change in angle, and started to move. The change in position pressed his cock against Draco’s stomach with every rock of his hips, leaving a wet trail on Draco’s abdomen. Draco settled his hands on Harry’s hips, helping him to move on Draco’s cock. Harry groaned, head tipping back. Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away. He wanted to kick himself for making them both wait so long to do this, and everything else that came with it.

Watching Harry ride his prick drove Draco to the edge quickly, so he grasped Harry’s cock, matching his hand with the movements of Harry’s hips. Harry moaned loudly, his thighs starting to shake. Draco watched as he started to fall apart, his mouth falling open as his cock twitched in Draco’s hand. Even as he came over Draco’s hand and stomach he didn’t slow the movements of his hips. Draco held on until Harry’s muscles clenched hard around him, before gasping and clutching onto Harry’s hips. He felt Harry’s lips descend on his jaw as he started to come, pushing his hips up to meet Harry’s. Harry rode him through it, not stopping until Draco started gasping lightly at the oversensitivity.

Draco still couldn’t stop staring as Harry rolled off of him, lying on his back next to Draco as he fought to bring his breathing back to normal.

“That was fantastic,” Harry laughed, grinning at Draco.

Draco pulled him in, kissing him deeply. Harry grinned through it, moving to kiss along Draco’s jaw when Draco pulled back.

“We’re not going back to how we were before, right?” Harry asked, lips no longer pressed against Draco’s jaw.

Draco rolled onto his side to face Harry, eyes darting over his face.

“We’re not,” Draco said after a moment. “I want to try. With you.”

“Good,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the, uh, continuation of the blowjobs, though.” He smiled cheekily at Draco.

“Naturally,” Draco replied, rolling his eyes. “As it happens, I wouldn’t mind continuing that part as well. I did like them, I just wasn’t sure why, I suppose.”

“It’s because you like my cock,” Harry said, rolling back on top of Draco.

“I’d say that’s a fair assumption at this point.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, pressing a kiss under Draco’s ear. “Do you think you could get it up again soon? There’s quite a few more ways to enjoy my cock.”

“Menace,” Draco hissed through a smile, nipping lightly at Harry’s shoulder. “Keep moving your hips like that and it won’t take long.”

“Brilliant.”

And when they were lying in the sweaty sheets later, Draco with a whole new appreciation for Harry’s anatomy, Draco let himself want to thank Harry for being brave enough to go after what he wanted, even when Draco was still being an absolute prick to him. Draco brushed his fingers through Harry’s sweaty hair and wanted to say it, but wasn’t sure how. That was something else he’d have to learn, he supposed. But the thing Draco let himself be the most thankful for, was the fact that Harry seemed to know what he was unable to say.

“You were brave too, you know,” Harry said softly, smiling at Draco. “I may have pressed, but you let yourself come, even though I think you were more scared than me.”

“I’m not scared anymore,” Draco said, pulling Harry against his chest.

“No,” Harry agreed, glancing towards the door where the footsteps of the returning Slytherins could be heard. “No, you’re not.”


End file.
